


Corrupted Save

by LynxOnSmoothies



Series: RESTART or REPLAY? [2]
Category: OFF (Game), OFF (Mortis Ghost), OFF by Mortis Ghost - Fandom, Off
Genre: Character Study, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Graphic depictions of violence - Freeform, Headcanon, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Mental Illness, Mostly my personal headcanons of OFF characters, Redemption, Referenced Genocide, Referenced/Implied PTSD, Related to RESTART, Self-Harm, Tags updated each post, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, War, negligent parenting, physical illness, self hate, selfharm, sidestories
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:00:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 10,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23835793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LynxOnSmoothies/pseuds/LynxOnSmoothies
Summary: When you start a game, they were there. They had lives. When you play a game, they were there. They had feelings. When you RESTART a game, they were there. They had regrets.(Collection of Side-stories from the OFF Universe, RESTART version) Rated by chapter.(Contains RESTART Spoilers, read at own risk)
Series: RESTART or REPLAY? [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1717540
Kudos: 29





	1. JUDGE (Two Encounters and Innumerous Conclusions)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Classification: Canon-to-RESTART, Possibly-Canon-to-Original-OFF
> 
> Time Frame: zone 0-2 / zone 1-5
> 
> RATED: T

_What will you do, Judge, when confronted with an angel and the devil?_

He didn't know what to make of the interloper and her picturesque jumping jack.

The first meeting was quite enjoyable. The patricianly puppeteer was quite relaxed, smiling at him as he spoke, as if she had not a care in the world. The pernicious puppet was puffed out, inching his way in front of his Player. The Judge wanted to scoff; like that minuscule movement would impede his advance should he so choose. To mock the fool, the Judge twined himself through the Player's legs, purring as she pet him gently. Out of the corner of his eye he watched the Batter twitch, restraining himself and the Judge smirked when the man snapped at him.

When the Batter informed him of the portentous purpose set to him and her, the Judge had to think. What would a Batter be doing with such a momentous mission? It tickled his whiskers in just the wrong way. Something was very off about the interlocutor, as if his skin was not his skin, but rather a fictitious facsimile of a face. However, the purity of purpose in the puppeteer cleared his doubts, and he offered his services to the puzzling pair. He even grew fond of the Player herself, as she assisted him in getting his lunch. How delightfully generous, he found her! Such a rarity in these times.

The second meeting was what made him truly wonder. In his investigation of the perplexingly peculiar ring, he stumbled across the duo again. The Player was much too pale, looking as if the very smoke around her was pressing in far too tightly. The Batter focused on himself with unwavering precision, and the Judge could feel the intent to crush his cuddly form pour off the tall man. It set his fur on point, not that he would be so undignified as to let that show. Never. It worried him though; what prevented the cruel creature beneath that camouflage of civility from ripping off its cloak? The vulnerably venerable venturer had no defenses of her own. If the toxins seeped through the concealment like a pernicious predator, what could she do? But the Judge hid his concerns in quips and quotes.

When the Add-on—Alpha, as the Player asserted—latched on to the spiritually bereft Batter, the Judge knew. He watched the false flesh of the prophet puppet ripple, barely clinging to the falsehood of humanity. While the Player may be pure in her intent, something very vicious was veiled in the Batter. He made his decision; while he may normally not venture beyond his anatomically amiable abode, he had to investigate. He had to watch. He had to understand what was so terribly and truly toxicant about that athletic anybody. He had to try to contain the beast within the Batter.

He felt it in his whiskers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everybody!
> 
> This is partially a repository for side stories from RESTART, and partially a way for me to keep my own headcanon straight. There will also be side stories that are not RESTART canon, but that I just loved too much to leave alone.
> 
> Time frames are the chapter zone classifications from RESTART.


	2. DEDAN (Ruler[s] of my Soul)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Classification: Canon-to-RESTART, Non-Canonical-to-Original-OFF, Might-Have-Been-If-Dedan-Lived
> 
> Time Frame: zone 2-16
> 
> RATED: T

_Who holds your allegiance, Dedan? The Queen, or the Player?_

The Queen… No, this filthy feline was lying. There was no way the Queen would ever… Would she? No, he had to believe. She wouldn't lie to him, not to her General.

Dedan sat at the bottom of the stairs in the library, puffing on a cigar. Screw being polite to Japhet, he needed it right now. The Queen… she knew he fought against the spectres. Hell, he had sent her reports weekly, and discussed with her measures to protect his zone! She wouldn't send more…she wouldn't send any! It was a lie. He took another drag, eyes fixed on the Player. She was taking a quick drink from a bottle in her hand, carefully keeping away from the shelves.

And then there was her. She had saved him—after damning him, granted—and seemed to truly be trying to do her best for the zones. He cracked a grin. She reminded him of the Queen. Both were so idealistic, so naively trusting of those under them. However, unlike the Queen, the Player's underling actively plotted against her and led her astray, hid information from her. She had honestly thought that the Old District was the whole of zone 1.

He snorted. The Batter... he took a deep drag on his cigar, letting the smoke curl from his clenched teeth. Fucked up in the head, that guy… if he was a guy. Something about how the Batter moved, how he talked, how he simply existed set Dedan on edge. It reminded him too much of BEFORE. He rolled his head, stretching his neck. That wasn't even bringing in what he saw the Batter _do_ to that Elsen. Don't get him wrong, he wasn't torn up about the death of a worthless Elsen, but how it went. 

**_It reminded him of how he used to be._ **

Dedan bit the cigar in half, standing up and snuffing it out with his boot. In any case, he was bound to the Player now not the Queen. He had to obey the Player now, not the Queen. Moving to stand by her side as they strode out of the library, he contemplated how things had turned out. All in all, could have been a lot worse, he figured. Dedan stubbornly ignored the little voice in his head, reminding him of how _things were_. How things had been _**before.**_ He shoved the voice away, narrowing his eyes as the Player spoke with a grinning cat, and made a snarky comment, one he did not remember.

No, the Player was different. The Queen was different. They weren't like himself. They would never make the choices he had, the decisions he had. And things were different now, he told himself, as they walked away from the feline. He inquired as to why they listened to the cat, and grew incredulous at the answer.

When he said as much, the Player's face grew bright red, and Dedan felt the worries melt away as he laughed. She wasn't like that, see? He could feel that she was pure, and he could see that she was good.

Things were different now, remember?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one makes more sense if you have read zone 2-16.


	3. DEDAN ("Stand Aside," They Told Me)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Classification: Pre-Canon-to-RESTART, Canon-Timeline-to-RESTART, Pre-Canon-to-Original-OFF, Non-Canonical-to-Original-OFF
> 
> Time Frame: ? ? ?
> 
> RATED: M
> 
> WARNING: Contains foul language, possibly disturbing themes, and non-graphic death. Reader Discretion is Advised.

_Do you remember Hugo, Dedan? Do you remember BEFORE Hugo, Dedan?_

Once upon a time, before the zones were needed, there was a man. He, along with his family, lived in a country called Dedan. It was a nice country if a tad hot—the man often went shirtless—and the sand ground its way into anything but high boots. He was fairly normal, a bit tall and a bit quick to rage, but overall normal. He lived a happy life, with his sister and his father. He desired nothing more than to stay like that forever, happy.

**_"I don't know wha' you're talkin' about. Go sprout ya nonsense elsewhere."_ **

Then they arrived. Word came that Sheba, the sister country to Dedan, had fallen and that the attackers were coming. On that day, the conscription was enacted, and the man was enlisted into the military. The man's world had warped, but he trained hard. He wished only to protect his family, to save them. It was merely weeks later that Dedan was struck hard and fast by the invaders. The Dedanites held out for as long as they could, but in the end, it was useless.

The country of Dedan fell, and its people were enslaved.

**_"Stop. I don't wanna hear it. Your little fantasy is wastin' my time."_ **

The man was no different. Shackles on his limbs, a collar around his neck, he was little more than property. This would not have kept him locked, as he was fairly strong, but something had broken his spirit. On the day Dedan fell, so too did his sister at the cruel hands of the enemy. His father, the man could only assume, was dead as well. His heart broken and his world shattered, he had no more will to fight. And so it was for years until a man named Ezekiel took notice of something extraordinary in the man. Something that no one had noticed before, not even himself.

**_"What part of 'stop' did ya not understand, ya shitfuck?! And MY name is Dedan, not tha' name of your shitty little make-believe country!"_ **

The man had a mind for battle. Strategies were his alphabet, contingencies his numbers. Ezekiel made a choice, and the man was no longer a slave, but a soldier again. But it was not the same man that had been a soldier once that was again. So far broken and beaten, he had been empty, purposeless. Ezekiel gave him a purpose, pieced together his world to give him a mission; to fight for Rush, the people who had destroyed his life. The man made himself forget, clutching to the new purpose with desperation. And so more years passed, and more countries fell to the might of Rush, with the man acting a puppet for them.

Until he didn't.

It was in the city of Arie that everything once again changed for the man.

**_"I said SHUT UP! Is tha' too hard for your little mind?! Fuckin' shut up!"_ **

.

.

.

The man turned up his military jacket at the cold, biting wind rushing down from the mountains. He hated arctic incursions. The cities were strategically useless and rarely had anything of worth. Scowling, he lit a cigar and took a drag as he clomped over to the officers' tent. He wasn't an officer, but as a well-known strategist, he was afforded some creature comforts. Shaking the snow off his boots, the man was greeted by some of the officers he was on good terms with. A good chunk of them were playing a card game, the General included.

**_"Shut up shut up SHUT UP! I'll fuckin' kill ya, ya piece of shit!"_ **

"The assault on Arie begins tomorrow," the General stated, flicking down his cards. The man nodded. He knew. He was the one who had planned the attack, the strategies for crushing the city surrounded by ice. It would be an easy win, seeing as they had cut off supplies to the city earlier that week. "Just saying, be ready to move at dawn." The man nodded again, moving off to his bunk.

**_"Tha's not me! It's not me! Just fuckin' shut up already!"_ **

It was an hour before dawn when the man woke up to a horribly familiar sound. Lunging out of bed, he dove for the tent flaps as the rest of the tent came alive at his yell.

"MORTAR!" The screaming shell smashed into the ground meters from the man, sending fire and shrapnel everywhere. The man screamed, his skin melting from the blast, the cold snow offering little relief from the burning pain. All around him mortars dropped like the snow, and the encampment was decimated in moments. The crackling of flames provided a backdrop to the deafening silence, only pierced by the man's screeches of agony.

**_"THA'S NOT ME! I'm tellin' ya it's not me! Shut up shut up!"_ **

There was no one left in the encampment but him. He realized this, as he screamed and writhed in the snow. Finally, the man could not take any more, and the darkness descended on him.

.

.

.

It was days later that he woke, in a medical tent with field medics looking down on him. His face felt stiff as he tried to speak. How odd to not be able to move his lips. It only took a second more for him to realize that he couldn't move what he didn't have. It took everything he had not to break down, to scream and rage against what had been done. So instead he sat in silence, listening to the medics explain his situation. The heat had melted his skin, had melted his bones. The medics had done all they could, but he no longer looked human.

**_"…"_ **

The Admiral came to visit him. Apparently the mortars were heavy artillery, which meant the attack had been staged close by. There was no way they had gotten close without being seen, the man mused in silence, so why had no one called the alarm? Why had it been so quiet?

"Your squadron was betrayed. The only body missing from the counts is of the man the duty register shows was on watch that night." The Admiral watched the man's face, or at least what wasn't covered by bandages. The poor bastard.

**_"stop…"_ **

Betrayed and left to die. The thoughts burned at the man, more than the fires that had cost him his face. Pushing through his pain, the man forced himself to speak. The deep, scarred voice that came out in hisses was not his own.

"Wha' was his name?" The Admiral inspected the man for a moment, thinking. After what felt like an eternity to the man, his superior spoke.

"Jericho. The man called himself Jericho." The name scratched at the man's mind, picking at wounds long covered, but never healed. Turning to leave the man to seethe in quiet, the Admiral paused, reminded of part of his purpose. Picking up the jacket he had tossed over the back of a chair, he threw it over to the man. "Oh, and congratulations soldier. You're now a General." After all, wasn't it policy to promote survivors? He left the man sitting in his bed quietly.

**_"just stop already"_ **

He stared down at the coat in his hands, the finery and badges attached rustling as they settled. At that moment, he made a decision. Forcing himself to stand up, ignoring both the screaming of his legs and the screaming of the medics, he slipped the coat on over his bandaging and moved to head out of the tent, his body protesting the entire way. The medics tried to convince him he was too hurt to be moving, that his muscles had been badly scorched by the flames. The man didn't care, leaving the tent to stand behind the Admiral. He ignored the raised eyebrow the man gave him as he stood in the snow barefoot, muscles trembling from the effort. He had a goal, a purpose, a mission. He would exact justice on the traitor, on behalf of his dead comrades.

Jericho had to die.

**_"tha' isn't me"_ **

.

.

.

Weeks of planning had paid off. The man smiled as he watched his soldiers rain fire down on the icy city below. Inside those steadily crumbling walls was his goal, the man he had been obsessed with finding. With killing.

Jericho was within his reach.

**_"heh… fine. You win."_ **

"Sir, we've broken the wall." The soldier snapped to attention, and the man nodded. Turning to face the soldier, he ignored the flinch he gave at the man's face. It was unimportant. Down in the city, blood stained the snowy streets red, and gunfire ripped the silence into scraps. The man sneered in satisfaction at the carnage, fingering the gun strapped to his hip as he walked.

"Jericho," the man screamed, the soldiers behind him readying themselves. "Come out, traitor!" Silence, broken by distant gunfire and screams was his reply. The man tch-ed and moved to head further into the city. The scum would not escape him so easily.

**_"Does this make ya happy?"_ **

A muffled thud and the startled yells of his soldiers had the man whipping around. The group scattered into cover as the sniper fired again, a flower of red blooming on a soldier's throat. The man knew who had shot.

"Come out here and fight me like a man, Jericho!" His scream again yielded no result. Roaring in anger, the man rushed forward into one of the buildings. Jericho was nearby. Pushing through several rooms, he soon found his target. A tall man in heavy clothing stood at a window, turning quickly at the sound of the door opening. He did not move, staring at the man.

"Jericho, I assume?" Jericho made no response, only staring at the man. The man sneered.

"Wha'? Oh, this?" He gestured to his face, " _You_ did this. Ya filthy traitor!" Pulling his gun, the man fired at Jericho. Jericho did not move, taking the bullets silently, his rifle hanging limply from his fingers. Blood bloomed on his clothing, as Jericho fell to his knees. Moving over, the man ripped the cloth from Jericho's head, intent on seeing the life fade from the traitor's eyes.

**_"Are ya happy now?"_ **

The man choked, his eyes locked with a familiar pair, set in a familiar face. His father looked back at him, face shocked and greying as the blood poured from his body. And then the man remembered. He remembered why Jericho was a familiar name—his own father, how could he have forgotten his own father? He remembered why he chose to forget, and bile rose in his throat. It was all wrong. The man's world crumbled away like dust once more, leaving him clutching at shattered memories and half-remembered dreams. The man sprang into action, pushing his hands against the bullet wounds he had just inflicted. This was all wrong.

"No, no, no! I—wha—why? Why?" He swallowed hard, blinking back tears. Jericho raised a hand to the man's face and then was gone. He had never responded, but the man already knew. His father had chosen to remember, to avenge his daughter and his son. He had not known that the man still lived, but he had stood strong. He chose to never forget what Rush had taken from him. The man had chosen to forget, to run and hide from his past, while his father chose to remember. He was such a coward. Such a fucking coward.

**_"Wha' more could ya want from me?!"_ **

The man sat on the floor, in the pool of his father's blood, for a long time before he decided to leave. Getting up and moving out of the house, he made no effort to rejoin his soldiers. Instead, he wandered down the alleys of the city, deaf to the screams and gunfire. What had he done? He had caused more suffering, all in the name of the people who had destroyed his life. What kind of monster was he? What kind of coward could run from his past, right into the arms of his enemy? He was trash, scum. Lost in his thoughts, he wandered through the streets. It was for this reason he never saw her coming.

The man huffed as he was knocked aside by a girl-child, no more than eleven, as she fled from the soldiers. However, she had made a horrible choice, having run into a dead end. Back against the wall, she watched with frightened eyes as the soldiers closed ranks behind the man. He looked at her from his place on the ground, but it was not the girl-child he saw. Overlaid on her image was another woman's frightened visage, one similar to his own once. The man made no effort to move, watching her. He was going to do nothing…Nothing? He… was he really going to do nothing?

**_"Ya want me ta suffer, is tha' it? HAHA, well shitstain, I've already done that!"_**

This was someone's daughter. Someone's sister. He… He had made his choice. His father, Jericho, had not been the traitor. No, he had been a hero his homeland would have been proud of. No, the man realized. He was the traitor.

The man stood up, standing between the girl and the soldiers. He was quiet as he turned to face them, unmoving from his spot. They shuffled, uncertain of what to do. The General of the contingent pushed to the front of the group and glared him down, ordering him to move. The man did not so much as twitch, the girl clutching to his back in fear, and the General motioned to fire. The soldiers lined up their shots, and one took one last attempt at making the man move.

**_"…'Stand Aside,' they told me."_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why, but Dedan has always interested me as a character. I feel if OFF had been a longer game, we might have learned a lot more about him, and I feel like he would have been a very sympathizable character.


	4. JUDGE (A Cruel Mistress Indeed)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Classification: Canon-to-RESTART, Non-Canonical-to-Original-OFF
> 
> Time Frame: zone 2-23
> 
> RATED: T

_Look at him, Judge. You found him, after leaving him alone for all this time. Are you happy now? Isn't this what you wanted?_

The Judge clawed at the plastic beneath his claws, screeching as his brother's limp body was lifted into Zacharie's arms. This was not how it was supposed to be. He was supposed to find his brother, whole and happy, and take him to the home he had found. It was his fault that this had happened. He had foolishly assumed that his brother would be safe in zone 2 while he searched for a home for them.

The Judge scratched his muzzle, drawing blood. "What a fool I am!" Zacharie laid Valerie down on the cushion by the Judge's favored sleeping spot, up the ladder on the roof. Grasping the Judge's front paws, Zacharie pulled the cat onto his back two paws, forcing him to stand bipedally.

"No, now you are a fool for standing how you were not meant!" Zacharie laughed, a faintly bitter sound. "Think, my dear feline! You are not God, you did not know that your brother would not be safe in zone 2, touted as the _safest_ of the zones." Pressing a Luck Ticket to the cat's muzzle, the self-inflicted scratches healed and Zacharie released the Judge to fall back down. Turning to treat Valerie, Zacharie continued.

"You may feel responsible for your younger sibling, and what befalls them, but you can't ever truly protect them from the world." Rubbing a Luck Ticket across the limp cat's chest, Zacherie gave a bitter smile behind his mask as Valerie's breathing eased. "They are their own people—err, cats, for you—and make their own choices. Valerie made his, and they came back to bite him."

"But I should have been there! I should not have left him—" Zacharie scooped up the feline, holding him under his forelegs.

"Shut up. What's done is done, and yet you mourn for him as if he was dead." Zacharie plopped the Judge down next to Valerie on the pillow. "Look, Judge." And Judge watched as his brother's eyes fluttered open, a tired smile tracing across Valerie's muzzle. Opening his mouth to speak, Valerie released not a sound. A resigned look crossed his face as if he had already known.

"You'll have to learn to communicate in other ways," Zacharie's voice was quiet as he moved to slip down the ladder. "I'll be downstairs if you need me, Judge." Pausing on the first rung of the ladder, Zacharie watched the pair. "Remember Judge, don't mourn what is still there." Then the merchant disappeared over the edge, leaving the brothers.

Valerie struggled to stand up, his right hind-leg not supporting weight as it should, causing him to tumble back down onto the pillow. Judge flinched. His brother could not stand, his brother was missing teeth, _his brother could not speak_ , and no matter what the good merchant said, it was his fault. Cuddling close to his brother, who attempted to get up again, the Judge spoke.

"You must rest now, dear brother. There…there will be time later to regain your strength. Focus your attentions now on healing." Valerie stopped struggling to stand, settling down into the pillow. Meeting his brother's eyes, Valerie gave a warm smile, the scar over his left eye and muzzle stretching with the action. Closing his eyes, Valerie drifted off into a deep sleep, while the Judge watched over him.

He looked dead like this, laid over the pillow, still as a corpse with only the faint movement of his chest to signal his continued existence. The Judge lay his head on his brother's torso. He had come too close to losing his brother.

But Valerie was still alive, just as Zacharie had said. He had not lost his brother to the ravages of the maddened Firebird, nor to the depths of madness. The only true loss was his brother's voice, some teeth, and his ability to move his back right leg. It could have been worse. It could have been much worse, just as Zacharie said.

And so the Judge wept, for both joy and despair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the more Feel Good stories. I wish OFF had more of them.


	5. ZACHARIE (Bittersweet Memories)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Classification: Canon-to-RESTART, Canon-to-Original-OFF
> 
> Time Frame: zone 1-14
> 
> RATED: T

_"Why did it have to be this way, Sucrose?" Don't be silly, Zacharie. You know why._

_It…he had never wanted this._

"Zachy! ^U^ Let's play~!" Sucrose giggled as she rolled around on the floor, sugar grains dusting her hair like snow. She dragged her tongue across the sugar covered ground, slumping down and dizzily laughing, her eyes sugar glazed. "Try it, Zachy~ You know you'll like it ;-)" Zacharie leaned back against the wall, watching her as she slipped into her haze. His eyes narrowed, his vision swimming.

Why was it like this? Zacharie turned his face from Sucrose's redolent form. It wasn't meant to be this way.

 _It started because…well, because of that. After she was brought here, she hurt so much._ Zacharie looked at the scarring rippling along her body, the roping lines like the fire that had caused them. _Her screaming…it was so loud._

"Hee hee heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee. Zaaaaaachyyyyyy~" She lolled her head so she was looking at him. "I feel floaty! 3 Nothing but fuzzy and warm…" Zacharie swallowed hard, eyes blurring slightly. His hand grasped his mask tightly, resting at his side, his fingers catching on the raised swirls.

_She never stopped screaming, her nerves eternally on fire. Hours to days, days to weeks, weeks to years, years to eternity. She hurt so badly._

"Tha…that's good, Sucrose." The words tasted bitter in his mouth. He abruptly stood up, ignoring the grains of sugar sticking to him. "I have to go now, okay?" He pushed open the door, averting his eyes from her. "I'll be back later." Sucrose pouted, wriggling in the sugar piles. Her fingers twitched, the heads attached to the ends smacking against the sugar dusted floor with dull thuds. The lifeless eyes of the Elsen heads stared at Zacharie's back, accusing even in death.

_And he gave in. He always gave in, every time._

"Awww :-(. Okay… Just come back before the Ducky." Zacharie didn't answer, closing the door behind him as stumbling down the hall. Tripping on the steps up to the outer door, he lay there. Slumped there, Zacharie gave in, sobs wracking his body. He slammed his hand down on the steps, ignoring the pain radiating from his hand.

"Damn it! DAMN IT!" He screamed hoarsely, slamming his hand into the steps again and again till his skin split, but he still didn't stop. He didn't know how long he was there, screaming out the pain he felt in his heart. When he finally stopped, his hands were red with his blood, and his throat was scratched raw. Rolling over onto his back, Zacharie tossed an arm of over his eyes, squeezing them shut to try and stop the flood of tears still pouring from him.

She was just sick. That's all.

_She was, in a way. Sick. Very sick._

He lifted up his mask, holding it above his head. Zacharie turned his mask over in his hands, looking at it with teary eyes. He hated that mask. He hated what it stood for, what it reminded him of. But he could never forget it. Tracing his fingers over the design of the toad face, Zacharie swallowed hard, his throat dry.

This mask was him.

_It was all he was and all he would become._

He slipped it on and lurched up the stairs. The light was bright, but Zacharie did not even stop as he blinked at the harsh light. Blinking rapidly, he fled to the void and he kept running. He wasn't needed anywhere yet. He collapsed in the darkness, curling in on himself as the sobs continued to ravage him.

Sucrose…She was just sick. She would get better. That's what he told himself. He believed it, he told himself. But then why did he leave the door to the stairs open?

_Because he knew that he lacked the strength to make her better._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sucrose and Zacharie is a dynamic that makes me incredibly sad.


	6. JAPHET (A Feather Lost)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Classification: Canon-to-RESTART, Non-Canonical-to-Original-OFF
> 
> Time Frame: zone 2-24
> 
> RATED: E

_Do you feel helpless, Japhet? Do you feel scared of the world around you?_

It had been a long time since he had been this small. Looking around at the world from the Player's shoulder, Japhet shivered. It was awful. It was why he had allowed himself to grow, to mold into a bigger form.

The world was not as scary when you were big, not as cold when you were big. It was cold being alone and small. He huddled into her shoulder, causing her to look at him. Giving a light smile, the Player reached up and stroked the soft feathers of Japhet's head. He leaned into the touch.

She was so warm. He hadn't expected that, not after what he had done. What he had done was unforgivable, even Dedan looked at him funny sometimes. So why was she so kind to him? Why didn't she judge him like everyone else?

Judge… Valerie. If he could take it all back, stop himself from crawling his way down Valerie's throat, from shoving his feathers into the limbs of the cat, he would. He was a monster, a creature from the darkest depths of sin. Ignoring the fact that he was currently four ounces and 13 centimeters from tip to tail.

Japhet fluttered off of the Player's shoulder, up into the sky as he looked down at the lands below. He hadn't always been that way. Once he had been hailed as the kindest of the guardians, but that had changed once he had seen how—despite all that he did—his subjects tossed him aside, trampled his gifts, feared the safety he had provided.

A flicker of flame danced across his tiny wings as he flew higher. It was enough to drive any bird insane. Dedan agreed with him, had said that if he had been guardian of zone 1 for much longer, he might have cracked as well. That didn't mean he didn't feel guilt for what he had done.

Japhet glided, staring down at the distant ground. It seemed so small from up here, like he was big again.

He wanted to be big again, but this time, Japhet would do it right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cause, you know, repentance.


	7. HUGO (I Know He's Coming Back)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Classification: Canon-to-RESTART, Possibly-Canon-to-Original-OFF
> 
> Time Frame: ? ? ?
> 
> RATED: T

_But do you really want him too, Hugo? After all he's done? Knowing what he will do?_

There once was a child. He was nothing special, in fact, he was something quite pathetic. Too sickly to leave his room, he spent his days reading the books his Daddy brought him and imagining the world outside his room. He imagined it was quite large if the stories were true.

Dragging his pudgy fingers down the page containing the image of his favorite character, Hugo smiled. He looked just like his Daddy did. That's why he was his favorite character, his favorite story.

Daddy…

Hugo's smile faltered. He had only been Outside one time—the time he had met the Tall Man, the Big Man, and the Birdy—but his Daddy… Daddy was always Outside. He didn't use to be. He would come and sit with Hugo, and read the books he had brought with him to Hugo. Mommy would stand in the doorway, smiling at them warmly.

Daddy hadn't been back for a long time. Mommy's smiles were not so warm anymore.

Hugo coughed violently, clutching his blanket in his tiny fists. Looking up at his walls, he trailed his eyes over the drawings he had made. Tall Man, Big Man, and Birdy were all there, along with pictures Hugo had drawn of Mommy and Daddy and himself. They were all old, as Hugo had run out of crayons a couple weeks back. Daddy usually brought them when he came.

Tall Man, Big Man, and Birdy were faded. He needed new crayons to redraw them. Hugo coughed again, his red blanket hiding the flicks of liquid that left his lips. A drop landed on the book, and Hugo desperately wiped at it. The faint pink left behind smudged across the eyes of the Boxer, tainting them reddish.

Hugo held back tears. It was just a minor mess, he told himself. It wasn't a big deal. But it was a big deal to him. Because the Boxer now had red eyes, not the warm ones Daddy had. Hugo sniffled, wiping at his eyes. It would be okay. Daddy would come back and bring more books and play with him and draw with him.

Hugo let out another frame-wracking cough, and this one drew someone's attention. "Darling?" The echoing voice floated into the room, just as she did. Hugo looked up at his Mommy, a tremulous smile on his face as he held in his coughs.

"Hi, Mommy." A smile crosses her face—but it wasn't warm like it used to be—and she scooped him up. Were her hands always so bony? Was her face always so thin? Hugo doesn't ask and rests his head against her shoulder. The tendrils of her hair stroked his back and head, comforting him. He felt the itch in his lungs go away as his Mommy began to sing.

" _Dodo, L'Enfant do, L'Enfant dormira bien vite_ ," Hugo sighed, snuggling his head against her neck. " _Dodo, L'Enfant do. L'Enfant dormira bientôt_." He loved it when she sang in French. She used to do it every night.

She didn't do it often anymore.

" _Une Poule Blanche. Est Là dans la Grange. Qui va Faire un petit coco, pour L'Enfant qui va fair' dodo._ " Hugo gave a sleepy giggle. Why would he want an egg? Such a silly song his Mommy sang. Hearing her sing made Hugo warm.

" _Dodo, L'Enfant do, L'Enfant dormira bien vite._ " Hugo relaxed his grip on her dress as she laid him back on his bed, still singing sweetly. Opening his eyes slightly, Hugo smiled at her. " _Dodo, L'Enfant do, L'Enfant dormira bientôt._ "

" _Tout le monde est sage, Dans le voisinage_." Her voice cracked slightly, but Hugo took no notice, drifting off to sleep, forgetting all about crayons and stains and books. Hugo slipped into dreams of laughter and smiles and warmth. "…" Vader Eloha stopped singing, tears dripping onto her skeletal cheeks. Delta nudged her shoulder, motioning to the door behind her. Covering Hugo with his blanket, she slipped out of the room and sealed it away.

Standing in her throne room, she steeled herself for what was to come. She knew she would not win, but she could give him time. A faint footstep echoed from the bottom of the flight of stairs and she knew. And as she waited for him to ascend the steps, she comforted herself by softly singing the rest of the lullaby.

" _Il est l'heure d'aller dormer. Le sommeil va bientôt venir._ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a sad peek at Hugo. The song is an actual French lullaby, which seemed appropriate, given the game's origins. Forgive any spelling mistakes, as my French is not the best. Rough translation below.
> 
> Sleepy time, the young one sleeps,  
> The child will sleep very soon  
> Sleepy time, the young one sleeps,  
> The child will sleep oh, so soon.
> 
> A white hen  
> Is in the barn.  
> It'll make a small egg  
> For the child who goes to sleep.
> 
> Sleepy time, the young one sleeps,  
> The child will sleep very soon  
> Sleepy time, the young one sleeps,  
> The child will sleep oh, so soon.
> 
> Everyone is calm  
> All around  
> It's the time for all to sleep  
> Sleep will come soon.


	8. ENOCH (I Want to Turn Back Time)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Classification: Canon-to-RESTART, Non-Canonical-to-Original-OFF
> 
> Time Frame: zone 3-26
> 
> RATED: T
> 
> WARNING: Contains non-graphic murder, depressive themes, and self-destructive behavior. Reader Discretion is Advised.

_What would you do, Enoch, if Sucrose was still alive? If Zacharie was still here? What, Enoch?_

Enoch turned the small doll over in his meaty hands, tracing his fingers across its aquiline features. It was so small, so delicate. A reminder of all that he had lost, through his own blindness. He turned it over in his hands, the fabric of the dress catching on his scarred fingertips.

It was too quiet.

It always was now. Only the sounds of the factory and the faint murmur of his workers ever filled the silence now. No longer did he hear gleeful laughter in the halls, or flamboyant chuckles from the rooms. There were no more jokes, or family dinners, or talks of stocks and production.

_It was too quiet._

He couldn't take how quiet it was. He felt empty. He felt so empty.

He wanted his children back, but that wasn't going to happen. Enoch knew that. One was dead, by his own inaction, and one had fled from him in disgust. The echoes of her screams, of his yells, of his own frantic cries…they filled his ears. They never stopped, not even as he slept.

He hated the quiet. It was so empty.

Sucrose… Enoch choked back a sob, his hands tightening on the tiny doll. How sick was he? How awful was he, that the substance that caused his daughter's death was what he took pride in selling? How twisted was he, that the substance that warped her mind was named after her by his choice?

Hunching over his desk slightly, Enoch choked on his sob, tears running down his face as he clutched the doll to his chest. They dripped over the holes in his cheeks, the salty taste a sharp contrast to the sweet taint of the factory air. The tears stung the stretched holes, his teeth clenched and visible through them.

He wanted them back. He missed them so much. What kind of a father fails both of his children so thoroughly? His actions… Enoch sobbed loudly, the sound echoing in the vastness of his office. The clock on the wall chimed the hour cheerily, and Enoch fell into himself even further, resting his head on his desk.

"I want to turn back time."

But what would he do if he had the chance? How would he save his Sucrose? How would he keep his Zacharie? Enoch did not know, but he knew if he had the chance, he would try. He had to. But that chance would not come.

Zacharie was still out there. Enoch knew that. He could feel it. He would bring him back home, eventually. He could at least have one of his children. He would prove to Zacharie that he was…he was…what? What could he prove? That the sales of his daughter's poison were phenomenal? That his zone was under his control, firmly and entirely? What could Enoch prove to his son that would make him love him again?

His chest hurt. It felt so empty, so bereft without his children.

It made him feel so hungry.

Yes, the hunger. Enoch sniffled, caressing the doll. The hunger was always there now. It never left, just like the screams. He felt so empty all the time, so hungry now. He sat the doll down on his desk, watching it as it slumped.

He was so hungry.

Standing up, the mountainous man made his way out of his office. Down the hall, but only slightly, to the room on the right. It was always locked. Only Enoch had the key. Stepping inside, Enoch fell to his knees on the striped floor. Little dolls lined the wall, each one staring with blank eyes and fixed smiles. Sucrose had liked dolls and puppets.

Shuffling from down the hallway, toward where Enoch had fallen. A stuttering voice, wheezing. "Uh…uh…E-Enoch, sir?" How dare it be here? Enoch straightened up, turning slightly to look at the Elsen standing in the door as it stuttered to him. It wasn't allowed to be here. It wasn't supposed to be here.

"—and there are intruders in the factory—" Enoch swung, grasping the tiny figure in his massive hand. It gasped in fright and Enoch brought it to his face. He grinned at it, watching it pale further and further, struggling.

He was ever so hungry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enoch isn't the sanest of guys, is he? Ah well, everyone has their flaws, right? Also, does anyone actually read these side stories that I put up on Corrupted Save? I mean, it helps me so I'll keep doing it, but I'm just curious.


	9. DEDAN ("I Won't," I Told Them Back)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Classification: Pre-Canon-to-RESTART, Canon-Timeline-to-RESTART, Pre-Canon-to-Original-OFF, Non-Canonical-to-Original-OFF
> 
> Time Frame: ? ? ?
> 
> RATED: M
> 
> WARNING: Contains foul language, graphic depictions of murder, and mental instability. Reader Discretion is Advised.

_Never forget your choices, Dedan. You are made up of your past, of the things you did._

**_"And you know what I said back, don't you? You know EVERYTHING, don't you?"_ **

The man slowly shook his head, eyes locked to barrels of the guns. He tensed his legs, his eyes narrowing as he prepared himself to move. He would only have moments. The girl grasped his coat tighter, fear locking her limbs to stone. The man swallowed, his bared teeth clicking and unnerving the soldiers in front of him. They knew who he was, they knew what he could do. They did not want to fight him.

**_"No? Then I'll TELL you, fuckface."_ **

The man shifted his leg back, readying himself. He…they…They would pay. Rush would pay for what they did to him. To Jericho, his sister, to Dedan, to everyone. And one of the warped pieces of the man's mind clicked back into place.

**_"'I won't,' I told them back."_ **

The soldiers fired, and the man moved. Darting forward with startling speed, he jammed his pointed claws into the first soldier's throat and ripped it out. He felt nothing as the man gurgled, wide eyes greying out. Bullets impacted into his body, and the man roared. It was not a human sound. For in that moment, the man changed. The red blood spilling from the bullet wounds on his body began to darken.

Giving a snarl, the man spun, snatching up the fallen soldier's gun and firing. Several more fell to the spray of bullets, the General amoung them. The man did not care as he bludgeoned a soldier to death, caving his head in like a ripe melon. And his blood got darker.

**_"Shut up shut up! You don't know anything!"_ **

Soon, there was no one alive in the alley but the man. The girl had long since fled during the massacre. The man did not care. He needed more, his eyes clouded with the red of rage.

**_"HAHAHAHAHA! You think that this will break me, is that it?"_ **

And so the man tore through the city, staining the snow red with the blood of the soldiers he had gotten into the city. And the man laughed. He laughed and laughed and laughed, the deep, shattering sound ringing through the now empty streets, the crackle of fire the only accompaniment to his mirth.

**_"Well, hate to tell you fuckface, but I got broke a long time ago! And you can't break what's already broken."_ **

His blood was not red.

Falling to his knees in the crimson snow, the man kept laughing. He couldn't stop. Tears dripped from his eyes, eyes still clouded by hate. The man just knelt there in the snow, laughing, as the sun rose on the bloody scene. No one came.

**_"There was no one left TO come. I killed them all."_ **

And, as the pink of dawn crawled over the snowy mountain tops, and snow began to cover the evidence of what had happened, the man felt the shattered pieces of his mind click together. But the pieces were warped and mangled, and the image they formed was grotesque. This was not the man who lived in Dedan, nor the man who fought for Rush. This could barely be called a man at all, a creature obsessed.

**_"Well, fuck you too."_ **

Forcing himself to his feet, tar-like blood gushing out at the effort, the man ripped off his shirt and tore it into strips to wrap his wounds. He couldn't just stay there. They all had to pay, pay for what they had done to him.

So the man vowed to make them pay. And he did. It was the only purpose he had now, the warped form of his mind having left out everything else. The man began to forget again; he forgot about his sister. He forgot about Jericho. He forgot about Dedan. He forgot why he fought.

**_"Remembering burns, you know that? So I chose to forget… made sense at the time."_ **

So he just fought. He fought everyone who crossed his path, slaughtered all in his way. He was there when Rush met Atul. He fought against both sides as the two Titans warred. He fought the survivors after they tore the world apart. But soon the world grew quieter, emptier. The monster that had taken the place of the man scoffed, and continued to fight those he encountered.

After all, what else was there for him to do? It was all he remembered.

**_"Is that why you're doing this? You want me to remember? I remember each and every one of the faces of the people I've fucking killed, filth."_ **

.

.

.

.

.

It was bad. He had been ambushed, and badly wounded by a group of men near the plastic seas. He tore them to ribbons and followed their trail back to their camp. He killed all those who were there too and took what little supplies they had had.

**_"I killed a little girl. I fucking enjoyed it."_ **

The monster who had taken the place of the man searched for a place to treat his wounds, to recuperate before continuing on. He searched and searched until there was nowhere left. He stood at the cliff at the end of the world, and there was a shack. The inside was barren of everything but a clock proudly stating the time.

He slunk into the ramshackle building and slid to the floor, black smearing down the wall. He treated his wounds, but did not get up to leave. He examined his hands, the claws formed by his melted bones. There was red staining the tip, which he scrubbed at idly. Glancing up, he leaped to his feet.

**_"You want me admit to the shit I've done? I did that a long fucking time ago."_ **

Across the room stood a creature, a monster coated in red and black. He stood still, waiting to see what it would do. It stood as still as he, it's breathing faintly rustling the tattered military coat that it wore. He moved closer, and it did as well, mirroring his movements.

It was then he realized he was looking in a mirror.

He recoiled. The monster in the mirror did the same, its black eyes locked with his own. He examined the image. Tall and muscled, red splatter staining the pants and boots it wore. Black dripped down its chest through the makeshift bandages it wore, its face melted with bone and bared teeth. He looked down at the bandages he had just made.

It was his reflection.

**_"You want me to feel guilt for what I've done? That's what this is about?"_ **

Both man and monster fell to their knees. This wasn't right. That wasn't him. IT WASN'T HIM. But it was, his claws stained red with blood and his appearance even more monstrous than he remembered. For his appearance had altered.

Hate changes a person.

**_"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA Oh GOD that's good. You are far too late for that, you sick little fuck."_ **

The man let out a broken sob, curling into himself. What had he done? That was not him. That couldn't be him. Lying there on the floor, the man let himself remember all that the monster had done, the warped pieces of his mind straightening out slowly.

He lay there and cried, scratching at his arms as he forced himself to see what he had become. And when he finally stopped, and stood up, he looked at the clock. It read nine o'clock. The man sat back down across the room from the mirror, with only his regrets and memories to whisper to him.

The clock stayed nine for a very long time and his wounds never seemed to heal.

**_"Why do you think I—"_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two of the Dedan Memories series. As well can see, Dedan isn't stable, nor is he the best of men. The reactions he has about his own actions are based on accounts from soldiers about the PTSD they suffer after war, though Dedan is far less in the right than those men are.


	10. ENOCH (But the Clock is Jammed)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Classification: Pre-Canon-to-RESTART, Canon-to-RESTART, Pre-Canon-to-Original-OFF, Non-Canonical-to-Original-OFF
> 
> Time Frame: ? ? ?
> 
> RATED: M
> 
> WARNING: Contains graphic murder, high mental instability, depictions of self-harm, and heavy 'drug' abuse. Reader Discretion is HIGHLY Advised.

_You made your choices, Enoch. Grief is a horrible beast, isn't he? The maze he led you through is at its end, but the events will continue forever._

Once upon a time, just after the zones had come into existence, there was a man. He, along with his family, lived in the industrial area of zone 3. The man was the proud father of his daughter and his son, the lights of his life. Both children were brilliant minds at merchantry, just like their father. He desired nothing more than to stay like that forever, happy.

**_"Who are you?"_ **

Then there was the accident and everything went wrong. A worker in the factory brought word to the man that his daughter and another worker had been in an accident. When he arrived, his daughter was alive, but horribly scarred. The worker had died. The man and his son spent days nursing the daughter back to health, watching for her to wake from the dark sleep that had her mind.

**_"What are you talking about? How do you know about that?!"_ **

Then one day, the daughter woke and the man and his son rejoiced. The family was reunited, but the man felt guilt every time he saw the scars roping his daughter's skin. He felt he should have been there for her. Deep in his self-loathing, the man did not notice. The son, now that the sister was injured, had to take up the merchantry work for the both of them and went out to other zones to sell. Busy with his work, the son did not notice. The daughter, trapped in her own skin, wandered the factory with glazed eyes. So intent on her goal, she noticed.

The worker who had burned, had burned sweet. It had tasted like pure sun and joy and she wanted more. So she went around, looking for the sweet powder the worker had become. She could not find any, so she thought _'If the worker burned, and the sweet came, then if I burn another…'_ And so she did. She burned one and gorged herself on the sweet powder. Then she burned another, and another and another. With each one she ate, she took their head and put it on a string and giggled. Such pretty puppets they were.

**_"Be quiet! You know nothing about what happened!"_ **

The man noticed. He saw his daughter descending the steps of sanity, and he had to make a choice. He chose to do nothing, happy his daughter could still laugh, even if it was induced. After all, she was happy, so it was good. It was the wrong decision and one day, the daughter lost her mind.

And then the man had to make another decision. So he did.

**_"Stop. Just stop!"_ **

.

.

.

Enoch stood at the door to the furnace room, listening to Sucrose's giggles. "He he hee! So nummy :-)!" A rustling of movement. "You make such pretty puppets ;-)." Enoch pushed the door open and stopped.

The room was filled with Elsen. Unmoving Elsen, with empty eyes, piled up like blankets. Sucrose was sitting by the furnace, tossing them in. She giggled, rolling her head back to look at the giant man. "Hi Daddy! I'm making the sweet powder! :-* It's so yummy!" Enoch flinched at her smile.

**_"I said stop now! You don't know this! No one knows this!"_ **

Sucrose scooped up a handful of the powder, pouring it into her mouth and licking her lips. "Sucrose." Enoch had to pause. He didn't know how to continue. "You need to stop." Sucrose froze in the middle of licking her hands. "This is making you sick."

She lowered her hands, facing away from Enoch. "…stop? Why would I stop? o.o" She stood up swiftly, turning to face her father with a wide grin, her cheek circles stretched. "I won't stop! You can't make me!" Enoch saw what was in her hand a moment too late, and he rushed to grab her. Sucrose tossed the burning arm into the pile of Elsen, and the room went up in flame. Sickly sweet smoke filled the room, stinging his eyes. Tears streamed down his face as he fought to see, searching for his daughter.

**_"Stop! I'll make you stop!"_ **

"All the sweets, all for me! On a beautiful day :-)." She spun around in the rising flames, arms spread without care. Enoch grabbed for her, missing. "I'm ignoring…why everything's so frightening…" He grabbed again, missing. The flames burned his hands.

"Sucrose!" Enoch roared, as she danced her way into the fire. He lost sight of her as the flames grew, and her giggling grew fainter and fainter. "Sucrose!" Enoch stumbled back from the flames, unable to move forward and unable to hear Sucrose anymore. Faltering in his steps, Enoch made his way outside, and watched the flames engulf the factory, Sucrose still inside.

**_"I WON'T HEAR IT! I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING WRONG!"_ **

Enoch had left his daughter to die.

Falling to his knees, Enoch sobbed. How awful. How wretched. He left his daughter to die. He caused this. He could have stopped her early on. This was all his fault. Deep within his grief, long after the fire was extinguished and the substance—sugar, he would call it, after her—was gathered up, did Enoch realize Zacharie had never come home. He sent messages out to all the zones, but no one had seen him.

And so Enoch lost both his children. Sitting in his office, Enoch looked at himself in the reflection of the window. Raising his hand to his cheek, he traced the red circles he shared with his children. He didn't deserve them. He didn't deserve to share that trait with his children.

**_"SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!"_ **

And so Enoch carved them out of his face, blood pouring down and staining his white dress shirt a dark red. It kept getting darker as he bled, until no longer was his shirt red, but black. Placing his tongue through the gaping holes in his cheeks, Enoch sobbed. He wanted Sucrose. He wanted Zacharie.

**_"no no no no no no no"_ **

He was such a failure as a father. He was worthless, scum. He was trash, who didn't deserve his wonderful children. Sitting there in the quiet office, his blood plinking on the cold floor, Enoch broke. He had made the right decision.

**_"it's over never happened over can't happen again"_ **

So why was it more painful than his wrong one?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not really anything to say here, huh? It's just generally kinda messed up. Whoops. Anywho, I know canonically that Sucrose's name is either sugar or sucre, but I really like the idea of her name being sucrose. Eh.


	11. BATTER (Once a King)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Classification: Pre-Canon-to-RESTART, Canon-Timeline-to-RESTART, Pre-Canon-to-Original-OFF, Non-Canon-to-Original-OFF
> 
> Time Frame: ? ? ?
> 
> Rated: G
> 
> WARNING: Rated G. Illusions to some topics, but no real reason to worry about this chapter.

_The road to Hell is paved with good intentions. You’re in Hell. What were your intentions?_

There was once a King, who ruled a prosperous kingdom of foolish creatures. They were not people, not like the King, nor like the Queen, nor even like the Son, but they had the potential to be. They only needed time and care to become more.

The King was a gentle ruler, lending an ear to his subjects’ concerns and supporting their dreams. He was beloved. The Queen was a generous soul, providing for the subjects anything they could desire. She was admired. The Son was magnanimous, granting the subjects opportunities to better themselves, to change. He was treasured.

~~The King was drowning in his subjects’ petty concerns and impossible dreams.~~

~~The Queen was desperate for love, taken for granted by her subjects for all she granted them.~~

~~The Son was disheartened, none of his subjects desiring to change, to be more.~~

Each desired only the best for their subjects and realm. The King sought solutions for his subjects, ways to grant them their dreams. He sought knowledge lost, and knowledge yet to be gained. Scouring the kingdom, he found no solution that suited his subjects. Reaching to other kingdoms, he found no solution his subjects accepted. Searching the stars, he found no solution his subjects believed. Ages of his search passed, the weight of his subjects’ pressing upon him greater and greater,

~~The King listened, but did he care?~~

~~The Queen gave, but did she receive?~~

~~The Son wanted change, but could he?~~

A whisper reached the King’s ears, of an end to his search. At the bottom of the sea was rumored to be an item which would grant an answer to any question. Desperate to end his search, the King scoured the seas himself, a task which took him years.

At the bottom of the sea, the King found it. A cube of red, weightless and bright. Stealing the item from its place in the cold waters, the King hid it away in his palace. In the depths of his domain, the King asked for the solution to his subjects’ problems. He received an answer.

**::Only something with a ____ can have dreams.**

**::Only something with a ____ can have desire.**

**::Only something with a ____ can resist change.**

The King could not bear it. It was knowledge, yes, but a burdensome one. He had asked powers greater than himself, and received answers so terrible that he struggled under their magnitude. How could he bring himself to answer their dreams and desires this way?

The King hid what he had learned, tossing the cube back to the seas. For years he sat upon his knowledge, listening to his subjects’ as they burdened him with their thoughts and dreams.

The pressure of his subjects’ problems and the weight of the solution were too much for the King. He started to crack. If it would answer his subjects’ problems, why should he not? If it would stop their foolish desires, why should he falter? If it would change their feeble minds, why would he wait?

~~The King just wanted it all to stop.~~

~~The Queen just wanted to matter.~~

~~The Son just wanted to help.~~

So, the King made a choice.

Slipping into the darkest depths of his kingdom in the night, he steeled himself for what he had decided. One of his subjects stumbled across the King wrapped in a cloak of shadows and lies, and asked as to the King’s purpose.

The King used the answer he had received, and took what was not freely given. The King left that morning both more and less than he was. What he left behind was not his subject, but two halves of a whole.

Each night, the King slipped from his palace to perform his duty, and each morning he returned both more and less than he was. Each night, he took more than he was offered, and each morning he drew his cloak of lies tighter around himself. Each night, he grew colder, and each morning he went to listen to his subjects. Each night, something grew on the horizon, and each morning it swallowed more of the world outside the kingdom.

As so it was that one morning, what the light touched was no longer the King, but a monster cloaked in a false skin of lies. The monster listened to his subjects, and every night solved their problems. With each problem he solved, the monster changed in form and the skin of lies stretched further.

~~The King was lost.~~

~~The Queen was empty.~~

~~The Son was unknowing.~~

It was when the world was almost no more to what grew in the night, that the masked man came. He spoke of what he had seen beyond the boundaries of the kingdom. He offered to build barriers between what crept and the kingdom. The monster agreed, and the masked man separated out the world into two parts: the pieces of what remained, and the nothingness. In return for his service, the masked man was offered a place in the monster’s kingdom.

However, the masked man felt no satisfaction. There was something about the kingdom that felt wrong, and the masked man wished to know what. The masked man began to observe the kingdom. He observed how the nothingness grew stronger each night. He observed the Queen’s struggles to provide for her subjects. He observed the Son’s desire to aid his subjects. He observed the monster slip back into the palace come morning, and listen to his subjects speak.

The masked man could see the Queen was faltering, unloved and alone. He could see the Son shed tears, unable to help and alone. He could see the monster sit upon his throne, unmoved by the words of his subjects. The masked man grew suspicious of the monster, seeing the cracks in the lies he wore.

So when night fell and the monster slipped from his palace, the masked man followed. And when he saw the monster’s duties, he fled back to the palace. He told the Queen what he had seen, he warned the Son what he had found.

~~There was no King.~~

~~The Queen refused to see.~~

~~The Son was unable to understand.~~

Come morning, the masked man confronted the monster on his throne. He told the monster that he had seen what the monster did at night. The monster’s skin of lies snapped, revealing his true form of corruption and despair. The masked man recoiled and drew his sword.

The masked man entreated the monster to stop his actions, to leave the remains of his subjects and realm to peace. _“Wretched monarch, leave this land in peace, or perish at the tip of my blade.”_

The monster sat upon his throne, snarling at the masked man. Terrible fangs gnashed at the man, and leathered skin stretched over giant limbs. The monster stood to tower over the man, his shadow cast as empty as the nothingness outside the barriers the man had built. _“I am the King, and you are my subject. You are not to go against my will.”_

The two _fought, a clash of claws and steel. Days passed in conflict, the pair equally matched. Eventually, the masked man stumbled and was struck. He lost his mask, and fled the kingdom, leaving it to the clutches of the monster. However, the lies that the monster had used were broken, leaving him bare to the eyes of those in his kingdom._ _So taking the mask of the man, the monster wore it to hide from the gazes of his subjects._

_~~The masked man swore to return.~~ _

_~~The monster~~ _ _~~laughed upon his throne.~~ _

_~~The Queen was forced to see.~~ _

_~~The Son was imprisoned.~~ _

_And so the kingdom continued for a time, the nothingness growing each night as the monster performed his duties, until he turned his attention to the Queen and the Son._

_ The rest of the story is missing. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No one starts out evil, not even monsters.

**Author's Note:**

> Need to contact me, or want to send me something? MEDIA LINKS. I got 'em. (Though Tumblr is the only one that's really active)  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/LynxOnSmoothies)  
> [DeviantArt](https://www.deviantart.com/lynxonsmoothies)  
> [Tumblr](https://lynxonsmoothies.tumblr.com/)


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